Put Up A Front
by sariagray
Summary: The lies they told each other were nothing compared to the lies they told themselves.


**Title:** Put Up A Front**  
****Characters/Pairings: **Jack/Ianto  
**Word Count: **Between 900 and 1000  
**Rating: **PG13  
**Spoilers: **Everything ever.  
**Warning:** Angsty dark stuff. Business as usual. Still unbeta'd because, well, whatever. :)  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Torchwood. I do not make money off of Torchwood. In fact, it seems as though Torchwood owns and makes money off of ME. This is for entertainment purposes only.

**Author's Note: **Written for jack_ianto_las over on LiveJournal (Challenge #1). The prompt was "The Right Time To Lie."

* * *

**Put Up A Front**

**Noble**

_**For Protection**_

"Ianto," Jack warbles like a songbird as he bounds down the staircase, his boots clanking hollowly against the metal grating and his hands stuffed into his pockets.

"Sir?" Ianto looks up from the monitor as Jack rests a hand on his suited shoulder. Almost subconsciously, Ianto leans into the warmth as Jack peers at the screen. His eyelids flicker closed, but it's such a quick movement that he's positive Jack doesn't notice.

"What've you got for me?"

"The explosion wasn't too big, so I'm putting through a report of a gas leak that got out of hand. And I've found a suitable replacement for the Weevil attack in Roath yesterday. I've already incinerated the original body; I'll place this one after midnight."

Jack nods. "What's the setup?"

"Mugging gone wrong. Owen's going to apply the proper wounds this time. I'll dump him in the bay; that should be sufficient."

"Just remember we want the family notified as quickly as possible." Jack squeezes his shoulder. "Good work, Ianto."

Ianto allows himself a brief smile, a moment of respite.

**Misdirection**

_**For Love**_

Ianto shuffles the stack of papers back into the folder and replaces it quickly, shutting the cabinet drawer with a resolute click just as he hears Jack's heavy footfalls approach behind him from around the corner. He takes a breath to steady himself.

"Everything okay, Ianto?"

He doesn't have to look to know that Jack is leaning against the wall, his body positioned to best display cocky arrogance. But his voice indicates a sense of concern and the thought that Jack actually _cares _eats away at his insides like hydrochloric acid.

"Fine, sir. Did you need something?" Ianto turns in a perfect circle to face him.

"Just wondering what you were getting up to."

"Filing."

Jack chuckles. "Not hiding from me, then?"

"You, sir?" Ianto raises an eyebrow. "Never. Maybe Owen, but never you."

Jack laughs and it is a ringing sound, full and real and Ianto clings to it like a tether at the same time that it makes him recoil. The pulse of joy is both sickening and life-affirming, and he's so close to getting caught that he wants to just blurt everything out. It feels a bit like the instinctual desire to guide the car nearer to the edge of a cliff, terrified and shaking all the while.

Though Jack calms his laughter, there is still a mischievous glint in his eyes as he slowly approaches. "How's the new system coming along?"

And it isn't quite sleight-of-hand, pressing up against Jack, pressing their mouths together, pressing down those swirling emotions of guilt and lust and betrayal and a desperate need for _touch_, but it's just enough to keep Jack from prying too closely.

**Blatant**

_**For Pride**_

He feels a nudge to his shoulder that jolts him from out of his dreamless sleep. He keeps his eyes closed, though, and grunts into his pillow. The hand on his shoulder is now slightly more insistent and he forces one eye open to glare next to him. The room is dark but the light from the bare bulb in the kitchen streams in, illuminating half of Jack's face.

"Sorry," Jack apologizes, though he looks anything but contrite. "Need to check you again."

"Mmrph."

"Mmrph yourself. Now, what's -"

"Ianto Jones. Twenty four. August nineteenth. Nine three zero two dash four eight three dash two two zero one one five. Going back to sleep now."

Jack raises an eyebrow. "What day is it?"

"Wednesday. Unless it's after midnight, in which case it's Thursday." He raises his head slightly, groaning at the twinge of pain in his neck, to look at the alarm clock on his nightstand. "Thursday, then."

"Good. Ianto?"

"Mmm?"

"How are you?"

Bloody. Beaten. Severely lacking faith in humanity. "Fine, sir."

Jack sighs, but he doesn't prod. Instead, he leans over and presses a kiss against Ianto's temple. It's their first real contact since Li – since the _incident_, and it makes him reel even more than the rifle butt to his head managed.

"Fine," he murmurs again before closing his eyes. It sounds less false this time.

**Omission**

_**For Stability**_

It is late. The street lights outside cast a soft glow in the room that is warm and yellow-orange and so very artificial. Ianto breathes softly, a counter to Jack; he does it on purpose in an attempt to dispel the cliché of synchronized respiration. There's nothing he can do about the heartbeat, though, short of killing Jack and resetting the steady rhythm. Frustrated as he is, he doesn't want to bloody the expensive hotel linen. Besides, there's no guarantee that it'd work.

He takes a deep, shuddering gulp of air that sounds suspiciously like "three." The exhale, a bit stronger, whispers "months."

Jack's arm tightens around him almost painfully. It isn't quite crushing his ribs, but it isn't making this exercise in non-clichéd breathing any easier, either. He shifts slightly and catches Jack open one eye in challenge.

"You're not allowed to move," Jack murmurs. It isn't a command, though; it's a plea.

"You've gotten awfully clingy." Ianto tilts his head against the pillow so that he may face Jack properly. "What happened while you were gone?"

"Just missed you."

Ianto gasps slightly as Jack tightens his grip, but there's something in Jack's tone that keeps him firmly in place.

**Self-Deception**

**For Self-Preservation**

Although he'd often implied that Owen was completely useless, Ianto never really believed it. Now he knows without a shadow of a doubt that Owen is (_was_) so very important and necessary. That's not just the dizzying welt on his temple talking, either.

Jack's looking over the gaping lesion. He tilts Ianto's chin up and there is such intense fear and longing and relief in Jack's eyes that Ianto feels the ground slip out from underneath him. It is cold and broken and real and so painfully familiar. Lov-

No. _It's just a concussion,_ he assures himself.

**The End**


End file.
